tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2190248992359510252014-10-05T00:02:28.737-07:00Laurey BikesLaureyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00881244921725694200noreply@blogger.comBlogger135125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-219024899235951025.post-45129041137286740912010-11-20T15:14:00.001-08:002010-11-20T15:14:45.494-08:00Managing technologyThere are many parts to manage when considering a big adventure. One, which is my current challenge, is managing the mere technology of it all. If I want to keep in touch with you while I am ON my big adventure, I must learn HOW.<br /><br />When I did my previous ride, I had a small "net book," a small computer which connected to the internet and enabled me to write my blog each day. I could upload photos, write, send. I could access my e-mail, and that was about all I needed to be able to do.<br /><br />Since I did that ride, I have added a couple of new parts to my life, including being a person who travels and speaks about things, including honeybees. It is much easier to talk about something like honeybees if I can show photographs. <br /><br />My little net book was not strong enough to handle a powerpoint presentation.<br />I decided I NEEDED to be able to do a power point presentation.<br />I decided I needed something more advanced. <br /><br />Also, when traveling, the mere idea of lugging a 10 pound piece of machinery has become an absolute chore. Amazing to think that my first "portable" computer fit into a carrying case the size of a quarter of a Smart Car! But anyway, now I don't WANT to carry around anything big.<br /><br />I now, as a result of all this, own an iPAD.<br /><br />But then I needed to get a special connector to connect the iPAD to a projector. I needed a little connector to take my photographs off my camera and onto my iPAD. And, today, I decided that I needed a keyboard.<br /><br />I am almost up to a new small suitcase for all the connectors and bits of paraphernalia that I am amassing.<br /><br />BUT - it all seems to be working.<br /><br />So, in short, it may seem that the most important thing about a big bike adventure is the bike and the body. But, as you see here, those are not the only concerns.<br /><br />Glad to know it all works.<br />G'night.<br />- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad<br /><p class='blogpress_location'>Location:<a href='http://maps.google.com/maps?q=weaverville,%20nc&z=10'>weaverville, nc</a></p>Laureyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00881244921725694200noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-219024899235951025.post-77993209628955866882010-11-19T15:09:00.001-08:002010-11-19T15:09:09.684-08:00Getting ready for the next rideI have the reason: a ride for Henry, a fundraiser for Be The Match, the group which helps make bone marrow donation matches. This group helped Henry and so I am going to try to help them.<br /><br />The ride happens in the summer of 2011.<br />For now, I am trying out sending a blog on my new iPad.<br /><br />- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad<br /><p class='blogpress_location'>Location:<a href='http://maps.google.com/maps?q=Biltmore%20Ave,Asheville,United%20States%4035.592329%2C-82.551173&z=10'>Biltmore Ave,Asheville,United States</a></p>Laureyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00881244921725694200noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-219024899235951025.post-6015332698521078432010-09-22T02:36:00.000-07:002010-09-22T02:55:24.989-07:00My TED talkSeptember 22, 2010<br /><br />It has been a long time since I've written. A lot has transpired since the ride finished but not all has been worth recording here. And, truth be told, I got caught up in the day to dayness of it all and did not feel motivated to write. Did not, mostly, think about recording thoughts here.<br /><br />But I seem to be coming out of that foggy place and have some new clearer thoughts and am, with this note, starting back up in this recording of thoughts in this place.<br /><br />For starters, I thought I'd give a link to my newly posted TED talk. TED stands for Technology. Entertainment. Design. TED talks are short talks about "ideas worth spreading." I've been keeping bees, um, trying to keep bees, for the past three years. This year I have undertaken beekeeping with renewed intention, and this is the genesis of my TED talk. If you'd like to watch it, go to You Tube and type in Laurey Masterton and you'll get to it. Or, if you like, try pasting this into the place you paste things to get to see them.<br /><br />http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z5wLUikpVo8<br /><br />or this one might work:<br />http://bit.ly/cQjj4r<br /><br />On another note, quite pertinent here, I have decided to do another bike ride. This one will be across half of the Northern part of the United States. It is a 6 week ride, from Fargo, North Dakota to Bar Harbor, Maine. It will happen next summer. At the moment, having no extra money, the challenge is how to come up with the 6,000.00 I need to register for the ride. But I'm sure I'll figure that out.<br /><br />This ride's focus is the Bone Marrow Registry. While I was on the Southern Tier ride last year, I found out that Henry, the son of two of my key employees, had a serious immune deficiency disorder. When I came home, they told me that the only hope for him was to get him a bone marrow transplant. They were gone from work for the next ten months. Henry had a cord blood bone marrow transplant (from blood saved from the umbilical cord of some child) which did not work to fix his immune disorder. But then, in March of 2010, he got a second transplant from a live (anonymous) donor and it worked. Henry child is home, gaining strength and health. He's not well enough to be back in school yet, but he is much better than he was and is going to live.<br /><br />So - my ride is for him and for others who need a bone marrow transplant.<br /><br />Back in the saddle I go. <br />Hop on if you like.Laureyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00881244921725694200noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-219024899235951025.post-6014727533854907922010-01-12T18:49:00.000-08:002010-01-12T19:24:11.134-08:00New year. New thoughts.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_XQUHHVmxnwQ/S007OnVLLdI/AAAAAAAAANo/NVHv7paubYU/s1600-h/jubilee+bike+blessing.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 130px; height: 86px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_XQUHHVmxnwQ/S007OnVLLdI/AAAAAAAAANo/NVHv7paubYU/s320/jubilee+bike+blessing.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5426058248313318866" /></a><br />I'm just back from a week in Mexico. In the airport in Houston, retrieving the week's messages, I read that my home had been broken into. On the plane we were told not to use our cell phones in customs but everyone else was and the line was hugely long and I thought, well, what the hell, I'm just reading my e-mail so what's the big deal? But then, to be standing there surrounded by total strangers, and read that my home had been broken into but that everything was okay, that my pets were not harmed, that the repairs had been made, reports given to the police...it was a lot to read quietly, surrounded by strangers.<br /><br />This is the hardest time of year for me. Even though this past year was slower than other years, it was still busy in December and the dramatic falloff into January was abrupt. I did have the ability to go to Mexico for a vacation and so there was that week to pour myself into. And while in Mexico I did take a surfing lesson and did, on the third day of trying, manage to stand up, unassisted, on a surf board on a real wave. Big accomplishment.<br /><br />But lurking in the distance were those questions: "It's January. It's the slow time of year. Last year was tough. What are you going to do to make this one work out better than last?" I mean, this happens EVERY year, this racing and then standing still. Over and over again. And finally it gets to be April 15 and things pick up again and then it's okay until January the following year. Every year I get consumed with worry. How can I make this year different?<br /><br />In the break in last week, my television was stolen. My ex-partner had bought it, a big television that was much more than I would have bought. Big. But I liked it. And a sting of pearls, the only really valuable jewelry I owned, was taken too. From my underwear drawer! Imagine. I only wore these pearls on special occasions, but I don't like that someone came into my house and went all the way into my closet, into my underwear drawer and took them. Today I decided to go buy another tv. I often come home and sit with my dog and cat, winding down with them tucked in next to me, allowing the day to dissolve, slough off. Lots of people say they hate tv but I like this ritual with my pets. And there is plenty of time spent reading and cooking and visiting with them in other ways too.<br /><br />I don't have much of a ritual with the pearls, but I miss them anyway.<br /><br />So I got the new tv today and brought it home and then could not figure out how to make it work. I fussed for a while and then called Monroe, my friend, and simply asked him to come and help me. <br /><br />My sisters talk about asking for help. They practice doing that. Asking. We are not that great at it, my sisters and I. But they say that help is often right there if you just look - and then ask. <br /><br />So I did.<br /><br />Monroe came. Set it all up. Got me coached in how to use the various controllers. And then left. <br /><br />Today I got an invitation to be filmed for a video about being an ovarian cancer survivor. And I got an invitation to make 15 glass vases for a big event in the spring. Cokie Roberts is going to be the keynote speaker at the event. I've given glass for the past two years and it's exciting to think that my hobby will get to make this sort of appearance at an event with her as the bigwig. My glass - in front of all those people! And I also found out that I might get to do some cooking for the Honey Board at a conference in Las Vegas where I'm speaking (about writing a blog and trying to help grow a business in offbeat ways - like riding a bicycle across the country...)<br /><br />I wonder about how I will get through until April this year. Monroe and I talked about it a little bit. He had a profound little quip (that I can't exactly remember) but it was something like, "I don't know how I will get there, but I will. And if it doesn't work, I'll just do something else." That's nice to remind myself too. I often forget. Often.<br /><br />"We will get there, heaven knows how we will get there, we know we will." Words from a song. Words to remember.<br /><br />I've also decided to sign up for another ride. Sent my money in on December 31st, thereby qualifying for a $700.00 discount. It's not until 2011 and it's a ride from South Dakota to Maine. I have no idea how I will manage to do it, to find time to train, to get the money, the time off, to have the staff in place to work it out. And I don't know if I'll do it as a fundraiser or not. But today I told the ovarian cancer people that I would do their video and that I am doing another ride. And I do, of course, know that I can raise money and take time off and do what it takes to get ready for something like this. And I know how much it means to me (and, to others) and so I'm going to do another one. I find that putting something GOOD in front of me helps me be strong in the face of things that might be not so good.<br /><br />Help is everywhere and if this, whatever THIS is in any given moment, doesn't work, it is not the end of my life. It is not the end of the world. Maybe this is what the lesson of the day is. Maybe.Laureyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00881244921725694200noreply@blogger.com39tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-219024899235951025.post-32262108351817023862009-11-20T14:17:00.001-08:002009-11-20T14:27:38.175-08:00Where does the time go?It is late November. Nearly December. SO far from the ride. SO far from anything resembling the training regimen I was undergoing at this time last year. Gosh, at this time last year I was writing donation inquiries, going to spin classes, wondering who was going to take care of my dog and my house, and worrying about the tanking economy.<br /><br />Sigh.<br /><br />Now I'm done with the ride. Things are going on at work which are making it essential that I be there quite a bit at the moment. I am not in biking shape right now. I would have a hard time doing that ride if I had to go today. But, on the other hand, I'm really in the thick of my work and that feels good, right, better than tolerable. And that, to be sure, is a fine place to be.<br /><br />Today I spent time on the phone with someone I do not know, trying to help her find some support for her newly diagnosed cancer. Yesterday I was in the hospital, visiting my little four year old friend, who is dealing with cancer. Another friend has cancer. Another one too. And another.<br /><br />I'm trying to stay above it, above the fear, above the feeling that it is closing in on me. I'm trying to believe that I can be a supporter and not have it land on me, infuse itself in me. I do believe it. Mostly.<br /><br />I think about the meaning of the ride for me. I have met many people who have told me that my ride was meaningful for them. I follow a couple of folks whose epic journeys speak to me so I can understand that mine might too. And at the same time, I wonder if it's done. People ask me what is next. I keep saying that work is the important thing for me right now, but their questions make me wonder if I am going to do another big project like the bike ride and if so, what it will be. And when it will be. And if I SHOULD be driving myself toward something.<br /><br />But right now does not seem like the time. I got a hint the other day that there might be more to this ride for me. I sense it. Feel it hovering even though I don't know what exact form it will take.<br /><br />Anyway - this is all popping in and out of my waking and sleeping thoughts. And, as usual, I wonder if it matters that I tell you. But just in case it does - here you go.<br /><br />Happy Thanksgiving.<br />I hope to say more soon.<br /><br />With love and in deep appreciation.<br />LaureyLaureyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00881244921725694200noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-219024899235951025.post-76980746796048585002009-10-11T05:19:00.000-07:002009-10-11T05:36:54.491-07:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XQUHHVmxnwQ/StHRV-xjKvI/AAAAAAAAANg/0UaHRNkhBq8/s1600-h/IMG_1012.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XQUHHVmxnwQ/StHRV-xjKvI/AAAAAAAAANg/0UaHRNkhBq8/s320/IMG_1012.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391320404497476338" /></a><br />Hi hi hi.<br /><br />Long time with no posting. Sorry. I've been in my kitchen, at parties, at home 9a little bit) and not doing much that has anything to do with my bike except passing it as i stumble to the washing machine or dryer.<br /><br />Actually, things have been fun, full and interesting. My life right now continues to be good. My sister talks about The Flywheel Effect which is all about things taking a long time to get started but then, once the momentum takes over, there is less effort and more movement, seemingly all on its own. Of course it is NO all one its own, it still takes effort, but it might appear that things are happening with less effort. Sort of like the "Overnight sensation" who has actually been studying and practicing and trying for a long time. We are not experiencing a "sensation" but I do feel a noticeable uptick in energy in my business and it does feel like less effort is required to keep it at this new, higher level.<br /><br />I traveled to New York a couple of weeks ago and spoke at The Culinary institute of America. I did not attend culinary school so it felt particularly fun to be a guest speaker. An affirmation, of sorts, that the paths I took to get here are valid after all. (I know this, of course.) I shared the bill with three other women chefs who are successful restaurateurs. All of us spoke with deep conviction about our work and I felt especially good, hearing them, about this work that I get to do. Finally, after all these years, I feel proud and good. This is new, very new for me and I like it.<br /><br />On my way back to North Carolina I had two short but lovely visits. First I was able to spend one hour with a close college friend who is now a successful orchestra conductor. Conductors travel all over the place, guest conducting here and there. he was at the Manhattan School of Music and I had a great time sitting and listening to a run through of that night's concert. We've known each other since college and there is nothing like deep, old friendships to fill me.<br /><br />And then I had the great good fortune to have a brief rendezvous with Roz Savage, a British woman who just finished rowing from Hawaii to Tuvalu, a tiny island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. I followed her blog, wrote to her often, and filled myself with HER story. Our paths connected on my way home and we had a terrific conversation, one hour long, about rowing and life and biking and work and trying to live a good life. She is certainly one of my inspirations and I left, filled with warmth at having had that time with her.<br /><br />Now I'm back to cooking and imagining things. Right now seems to be the time to put things in order. I'm painting my shop, having trees trimmed at home, replacing broken equipment in my kitchen, making things nice. I'm not sure why but it seems to be the right thing to do.<br /><br />Sorry for the long pauses in my notes. This, truthfully, is the first time I've had time to sit and reflect in quite some time. <br /><br />I'll write again before long.<br /><br />Cheers,<br />laureyLaureyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00881244921725694200noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-219024899235951025.post-29735069900774379892009-09-24T18:07:00.000-07:002009-09-24T18:20:02.268-07:00Where've I been?Oh me, oh my. Time seems to have flown, or crept along (depending on one's perspective) and I look and see that it has been a month since I last wrote. REALLY?<br />Why?<br /><br />Let's see:<br />I fired my chef - caught him doing things that are against the rules of my business. The unfortunate thing is that I was not prepared for that to happen and had NO back up plan. I even thought, when I was firing him, "How do you think you're going to make it through THIS one?" But MY integrity was on the line and he was out, which left, um, ME to be "in." Yipes! <br /><br />I have not cooked, really cooked, in a long time. Sure, I go to parties and arrange food, but starting from scratch, as it were, is not something that I'm in training for. Of course I have not forgotten what to do - just got way out of practice. But food needed to be made and everyone else's days off loomed and so, I dusted off my chef pants and got to it.<br /><br />The reality of this new schedule was that I got up really early, cooked until the kitchen seemed under some sort of control, and then went into my office to start THAT work. Nothing really got dropped. A LOT got added. <br /><br />A few days after the chef was booted, I found a new fellow who is terrific and who has joined us. I stayed in the kitchen, however, because he was so new to us that I don't think he'd even eaten our food before coming in. But he's catching on quickly. One of my other cooks went away for two weeks and I filled in for her.<br /><br />And then two of my managers, who are married, have just left for about 4 months - off to take care of their little boy who has a serious medical condition. More juggling. Someone moved up to cover one of them, someone else moved up to cover for the other one. Others moved to take over for the people who moved to cover the missing managers. It has felt like one of those little puzzles where you shift one tile which makes a space for another to move, which makes a space for ANOTHER to move. Hopefully, at some point, you have a tidy, orderly picture.<br /><br />We haven't felt very tidy or orderly - but we're getting there.<br /><br />In the meantime, I've started a cooking class series, have continued to do one day of early cooking, have filled in for the delivery guy (who is leaving shortly - he has been replaced (yay!) and have covered for another delivery person who got hurt recently. <br /><br />It's been kind of crazy.<br /><br />Fun things have included getting ordained by the Universal Life Ministry and conducting my very first wedding (!) and also winning third place in the WORLD Gee-Haw-Whimmy-Diddle contest.<br /><br />Oh - and we won Best Caterer in Asheville.<br />And last night there was a bear in my yard.<br />And a flock of chickens.<br />And, just down the road, a flock of huge wild Turkeys.<br /><br />Now I can see why I have not written very regularly, can you?<br /><br />I'll try to be better.<br />I have not been on my bike hardly at all, though I AM going to go to The Culinary Institute of America next week to talk about the ride. On we go.<br /><br />Good night for now.<br />LaureyLaureyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00881244921725694200noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-219024899235951025.post-91198684361825683522009-08-18T16:55:00.000-07:002009-08-18T17:07:10.705-07:00Cards, sent. Letters, written.So my new favorite pastime is imagining I am on the Ellen show. I watch old shows of hers and get a quickened pulse as I imagine walking out onto the stage with some pounding bicycle song in the background. I laugh to myself as I imagine this, but isn't this what the Law of Attraction is all about?<br /><br />Yesterday I found a list of a whole bunch of supervising producers and senior producers and executive producers and sent two postcards to each one of them. I also sent e-mails to the executive producers and have been asking everyone I know to write to Ellen if they think putting me on the show is a good idea.<br /><br />From the moment I started this ride idea I felt that I would get on the Ellen show to tell her, and her viewers, all about my ride. For some crazy reason I still think it will happen. Everyone I know thinks its a great idea.<br /><br />"She'd LOVE you!"<br /><br />"You two would hit it off!"<br /><br />"That's a PERFECT idea!"<br /><br />And the more they say these sorts of things, the more I persist and allow myself to do things like writing and sending 30 postcards to people I don't even know, introducing myself and saying that I would like to be on her show.<br /><br />WHY do I want to be on her show?<br /><br />Well, the main reason is so that more people hear about those subtle early warning signs for ovarian cancer:<br />bloating<br />abdominal pain,<br />feeling full quickly<br />feeling the need to pee more than normal<br />AND - most of all<br />having something be wrong for more than a couple of weeks.<br /><br />Early detection can be a life saver.<br /><br />But also I want to be the very visible symbol of the story of survivorship. When I was sick it helped me a LOT to meet someone who was out there ahead of me, surviving longer than I had. 20+ years is a long time to be a survivor in this club and I want people to know that there is hope.<br /><br />(Okay, and I want to meet her.)<br /><br />So if you want, send something to her. Tell her how much she would like me! And then get ready! It WILL be fun to be on her show. Except today I started wondering if they would make me wear a lot of makeup. <br /><br />xxo,<br />LaureyLaureyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00881244921725694200noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-219024899235951025.post-11081717085976953412009-08-16T18:41:00.000-07:002009-08-16T18:52:51.186-07:00Ellen?So, once again I find myself getting ramped up about the idea of appearing on Ellen, the Ellen DeGeneres show. I had this as a goal all during the ride, and before it too. The idea faded away as it became clear to me that I was not getting her attention. But now it comes up again because September is Ovarian Cancer awareness month and, well, this ride was largely about that and so, um, I'm going to give it another go.<br /><br />Thinking about talking with her about my bike ride is, I admit, a diversion for me too. Work is hard. Things are hard. Thinking about talking with her is easy. In my imagination it is fun. And good. And I want to. I want things to be easy. I want to go tell her about my bike ride.<br /><br />In the course of this week I am going to be putting together some packets of photographs and links to my video and some words and some ideas and I'm going to send them in. I'm also going to write to her and to everyone affiliated with her show. And if this sounds like a good idea to you too, well, I'd love it if you would go on her website and write to her telling why you think I would be a good guest. Her show starts up again pretty soon after her summer hiatus so the time is right.<br /><br />My video is getting increasing attention. If you haven't seen it, please do take a minute to watch. Here's the link. <br /><br />http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wtQ-CW3GrSs<br /><br />One really nice omen is that I have seen the Great Blue Heron almost every day recently. I say THE rather than "A" because this one is at the lake where I walk Tye. Tye loves lunging toward the graceful bird, scaring it and making it take off. I never see it until Tye does her lunge. But then I see it for the entire duration of my walk. It guides me, soothes me, beckons. This bird has always been a sign holder for me, a "it's all going to be fine" messenger. I need that comfort and so it's nice to see it. Tye doesn't need any comforting but she really likes the acrobatics. Sigh.<br /><br />Anyway - if you're so moved, thanks for jotting the Ellen show a note.Laureyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00881244921725694200noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-219024899235951025.post-30876886261609524372009-08-12T19:24:00.000-07:002009-08-12T19:32:34.905-07:00Calm nowAfter the whirlwind of this past weekend things are feeling much more manageable. I've found a new fellow to work in the kitchen so my days of EARLY mornings are now numbered. I have liked being in the kitchen. I like kitchen clothing. I like playing kitchen dress up. I even bought new clogs since my old ones have a hole in them. And I like the early quiet. The turning on of the ovens. The glance at the day's list, the scan of what is left after yesterday's sales. I like going into the walk-in and seeing what's there. I like talking with the farmers and I like carrying in their boxes of picked-that-day produce. I like making food. I like this.<br /><br />I have been almost keeping up with my own job too, curiously enough. It's not really sustainable for me in the long run, doing both jobs, but for now it's okay. Still fun. A spark of new in returning to the old place.<br /><br />Tomorrow we have a dinner with some of our local farmers. I'm jazzed about it. I'm thrilled to introduce the guests to the farmers. The farmers to our guests. Both are my friends. It's like introducing one set of friends to another. And the farmers are excited, as are the guests. I want this to become a big thing. Sold out. Waiting lists. That's on my radar screen.<br /><br />And I'm beginning to find the energy to imagine the "NOW what?" of this bike ride. I think it's a book. I want to put in parts of my trip log. I want to expand some of the days' entries to make them stand alone chapters. And I want to interview some people who inspire me. I'm compiling a list. <br /><br />But right now I'm TIRED. So off to bed it is for me.<br /><br />I'll say more soon.<br />For now -<br />Love,<br />LaureyLaureyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00881244921725694200noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-219024899235951025.post-72505431022756886572009-08-08T19:42:00.000-07:002009-08-08T19:52:06.710-07:00OofNighttime now. Cicadas are singing away. Pup is sleeping. Cat is carousing. All is right with the night's life.<br /><br />Today I served food to 420 people. Yesterday, 375. Big numbers. Big work. Pretty big fun. I worked hard and then dragged myself home, changed chef's clothing for nap clothing and crashed out. It was one of those all out, complete loss of consciousness, naps. I woke up dazed after an hour, took the pup out for a walk, stumbled around with her as she sniffed and poked and explored. <br /><br />Then we went to hear some music at our downtown Saturday night music scene. I bumped into a number of people who all said, "Where's your fiddle?" My fiddle, I told them, was at home. It IS out of its storage spot. I HAVE been playing it. True, I only recently started playing it again. But I AM playing.<br /><br />Similarly, when I was at Penland today doing that big party, I saw some glassblower friends. "How's glass?" I heard. Glass, I answered, is off the list for the moment. It's too hot. No one's studio is open right now. And I'm fully engaged at work. I'll get back to glass. Just not right this second.<br /><br />And so, when I think of riding, and I hear, "How's the bike? How's your weekly riding going? How many miles are you riding these days?" I try to say, well, I am not riding a lot right now. My body is still sore. I need a bit of a break. And I also am, as I said, fully engaged in my kitchen. I'll get back on the bike. Just not right now.<br /><br />So it goes. Off and on with the fiddle. Off and on with the glass. Off and on with the bike. <br /><br />There IS time for it all. Maybe just not all of it all the time. <br /><br />Right now it is time for bed.<br /><br />I'll be in touch.<br />LaureyLaureyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00881244921725694200noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-219024899235951025.post-20327959274452282272009-08-05T13:56:00.001-07:002009-08-05T14:08:56.293-07:00Video feverMy friend John came in for lunch today. John has an iPhone. And he is the one who made the video of my ride. He is a photographer. And he is the proud designer of an iPhone "app" which will tell anyone what kind of light to expect. I think anywhere in the world. He might, say, be flying to San Diego to shoot a project for someone but he wants to know about the angle of the sun at a specific time of day on a specific date. Well, he created a program to figure that out. (I think I have this right.)<br /><br />Well ANYWAY, today he came in and I saw him as he was standing in line and he showed me that he has my Live. Love. Bike. video on his iPhone. I immediately grabbed it out of his hands and went prancing through the kitchen, showing it off. (I'm very pleased with this video. It feels like I'm bragging about my kid who just hit a home run or something. I forget that it is ME. And it's not really bragging about myself. I just love the Jason Mraz song. I love looking at the shadow of the biker (me) riding across the United States. I just love the video.)<br /><br />Later I was supposed to go across the street to our Wednesday afternoon market to do some cooking demonstrating. But just when I was supposed to go, the skies opened up and it POURED. The demo, I decided, needed to be postponed.<br /><br />It has been an odd week for me. I fired my chef. Caught him doing things he should not have been doing. He was a friend and it hurt. The whole thing hurt. And the other part is that that meant that I had to step up and get my cooking clothes on again and had to pull out my knife and get busy. As it turns out, I'm having an okay time - after getting over the hurt. I do LIKE cooking, after all. And it has been some time since I've been back in my kitchen for more than a few minutes, or hours. I'm working on a couple of new ways of doing some recipes and in the middle of the afternoon Martha looked up from her work area and said, "Are you having fun in your little laboratory?" <br /><br />And I realized I was.<br /><br />Funny about all this.<br /><br />I came home to rest a little bit and arrived to find a deep pool of water in front of my downstairs area. So now I'm soaked because I got my red boots on and bailed out all the water so it would not run into the basement. And it's been awhile since I've been soaked by the rain and right now I'm enjoying being wet. <br /><br />And being the cook.<br /><br />And having this life. Even if I get hurt here and there.<br /><br />Tomorrow I am speaking to a group of retirees. I'm the featured speaker. "You ARE the entertainment!" the hostess told me when I inquired about the program. Eeps! More talking about this wonderful trip and another chance to show my video. <br /><br />And a day of cooking will precede all that.<br /><br />Off to it I go. <br /><br />I'll be in touch soon.<br />Love,<br />LaureyLaureyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00881244921725694200noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-219024899235951025.post-70043610008017267142009-08-01T19:18:00.000-07:002009-08-01T19:35:38.208-07:00I'm on You Tube!I've written a LOT of letters to Jason Mraz and I finally got a response from someone in some PR firm that represents him. They said I could put my video up on You Tube and it's now up! <br /><br />Go me!<br /><br />(Actually, I'm not sure if you can see it or find it (go ahead and try - I'm curious.)<br /><br />It's listed under Live. Love. Bike. Of course, I just put it up here on this blog so you can easily scroll down one post and can find it and can see it (I think) right here. But I feel very smart - getting the video done and now posted on You Tube. It's kind of a rush, to be honest.<br /><br />Things have felt kind of rough lately. For one thing, my left hip has really been bothering me. I'm trying to make it stop hurting and have been to my chiropractor and to my Pilates teacher and to my rolfer. Right now it's REALLY sore but I had to work today in my kitchen which involves picking things up and twisting and turning and standing for a long time. I hope it will all calm down. Right now it feels fiery and not good.<br /><br />For comfort and inspiration these days I've been reading the blog of a woman who is rowing across the Pacific Ocean. Right now. Today. She already rowed across the Atlantic and already rowed from San Francisco to Hawaii. Now she is trying to row halfway to Australia. She'll finish the trip later on. Her name is Roz Savage and you can find her by googling her name. I'm finding her posts compelling and uplifting. <br /><br />Today she was writing about taking a long view of things. From a close view, things seem very hard to her, like she is going nowhere and is just going in circles - maybe. Really she has rowed over 2000 miles and has been rowing for 68 days. She's made a huge amount of progress.<br /><br />I've had a couple of extremely difficult days at work. I just discovered that one of my employees did a very bad thing and so I am now back in the trenches, doing the job of someone I trusted. I feel terrible, betrayed, hurt, sad, angry. Pissed off that so little consideration of me and of everyone else who works at my place was taken. And I'm worried about how I'm going to get through this latest situation. It feels impossible.<br /><br />And I need to remember that it is not impossible, that I have handled much worse, that I can figure this one out, that I HAVE made a huge amount of progress and that this is merely an example of a stupid thing done by a thoughtless person. I need to remember that I have gone many miles on my adventures and there have been many days of peace and calm and there will be many more.<br /><br />Roz's words today helped me pull out of a very dark place. I hope to get her to come to Asheville sometime. She's now saying she will. (She called me the Eco Champ of the day the other day for saying that I am going to stop selling water in bad plastic bottles.) She's my hero. <br /><br />Anyway, see if you can see that video and pass it on if you like. I'm happy its there. I'm happy to remind myself that I did this big bike ride. And I'm energized and renewed by reading and thinking about Roz and hers.<br /><br />For now -<br />Love,<br />LaureyLaureyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00881244921725694200noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-219024899235951025.post-73656206223134803262009-07-28T15:44:00.000-07:002009-07-28T17:05:12.806-07:00My video<object width="320" height="266" class="BLOG_video_class" id="BLOG_video-716b143a1f07bf49" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0"><param name="movie" value="//www.youtube.com/get_player"><param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF"><param name="allowfullscreen" value="true"><param name="flashvars" value="flvurl=http://redirector.googlevideo.com/videoplayback?id%3D716b143a1f07bf49%26itag%3D5%26source%3Dblogger%26app%3Dblogger%26cmo%3Dsensitive_content%3Dyes%26ip%3D0.0.0.0%26ipbits%3D0%26expire%3D1427292502%26sparams%3Dip,ipbits,expire,id,itag,source%26signature%3D5E036B754BABCF64439B5F5C89C990FEADC7BA70.088174ED959A88875EA9F2A3C5CF20F3BFB2BB72%26key%3Dck2&amp;iurl=http://video.google.com/ThumbnailServer2?app%3Dblogger%26contentid%3D716b143a1f07bf49%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw160%26sigh%3DmJLEytFvsylkQkipfu6ot0b4tUM&amp;autoplay=0&amp;ps=blogger"><embed src="//www.youtube.com/get_player" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="320" height="266" bgcolor="#FFFFFF" flashvars="flvurl=http://redirector.googlevideo.com/videoplayback?id%3D716b143a1f07bf49%26itag%3D5%26source%3Dblogger%26app%3Dblogger%26cmo%3Dsensitive_content%3Dyes%26ip%3D0.0.0.0%26ipbits%3D0%26expire%3D1427292502%26sparams%3Dip,ipbits,expire,id,itag,source%26signature%3D5E036B754BABCF64439B5F5C89C990FEADC7BA70.088174ED959A88875EA9F2A3C5CF20F3BFB2BB72%26key%3Dck2&iurl=http://video.google.com/ThumbnailServer2?app%3Dblogger%26contentid%3D716b143a1f07bf49%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw160%26sigh%3DmJLEytFvsylkQkipfu6ot0b4tUM&autoplay=0&ps=blogger" allowFullScreen="true" /></object><br /><br />Here it is! My video!!!<br />Enjoy.<br /><br />Love,<br />LaureyLaureyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00881244921725694200noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-219024899235951025.post-54542790402894394122009-07-22T19:59:00.000-07:002009-07-22T20:13:48.242-07:00Night time againA whirlwind of a day - again. Whooshing around, getting ready for tomorrow's cooking class, going to the market, meeting with people to talk about a class I am teaching in two weeks, beginning to think about a speech I am giving in three weeks, and about another that will be in four weeks, and another that will be in two months. All are about the same thing. And all will be different.<br /><br />I don't plan well in advance. I am really one who responds to the thing that pops up in front of me. I am really good at that. And I am trying to train myself to look ahead a bit more. Looking ahead pushes me and makes me uncomfortable. Things that pop up are more to my liking, even though they mess with my long range planning. Funny about that.<br /><br />Today I had taken a look ahead at my day, had made a plan, had things in order in my mind. But the phone rings and I answer it and sometimes that means I have to do something with the caller, like plan a party or something. And that messes with the order of my list. Ha! <br /><br />I had not really done a very good job at getting ready for the things I needed to get ready for when Annie showed up, ready to get me to take me to a show a friend of hers was doing - here in Asheville. I had, in actuality, just started really collecting the things, ingredients and pots and pans, that I will need tomorrow for my class. But then it was time to go. I went, but then realized that we were 1/2 hour EARLY - which gave me 1/2 hour to cram in some shopping - for tomorrow's class. <br /><br />GREAT!!<br /><br />The show was fun, worth seeing. Her friend is a goofball and has written a goofball book called Stuntology. Goofball stuff. My mind was on my class - sort of. Sam was funny and I did like his show. Goofballs unite! As soon as the show was over, my mind went back to the class-100%. Annie took me back to work where I planned to squeeze in one more hour of work before leaving to meet her for some music and then dinner and then a concert. <br /><br />All was fitting in pretty well.<br /><br />But then, back at work, a customer of mine came up to me and told me he'd just crashed into my car. <br /><br />GREAT.<br /><br />Whoosh. Look at the car. Figure out what to do. Do it. Feel perversely excited at the suddenness of it all, of the ability to feel comfort in this unexpected thing. And, yes, feeling ANNOYED at my car getting banged up. I don't have time to have give up my car to have it fixed. Not today anyway.<br /><br />But then my sister came by and helped me slow down enough to REALLY get everything organized for the class - which I managed to do.<br /><br />So I don't know what to say about this. Is it my nature to resist planning? Even my VERY best laid plans get tossed to the winds. Almost always. So do I just say, well, I am a spontaneous person and I work best at the last minute? But that does not take into consideration wanting to be more calm and to have things laid out. <br /><br />A conundrum.<br /><br />But now, finally, I am at home and part of teaching a good class is going to bed.<br />Which I will now do.<br /><br />Sigh.<br />LaureyLaureyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00881244921725694200noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-219024899235951025.post-13084838055741493062009-07-21T14:02:00.000-07:002009-07-21T14:29:24.478-07:00Quiet afternoonI'm home. Today was a day of struggling with a bad mood. I kept telling myself to get over it. I kept not getting over it. I felt surly, moody, impatient. I caught myself on the verge of snapping on a number of occasions. I had to take myself out for a walk a couple of times and I had to take deep breaths a couple of times. <br /><br />Nothing worked. Nothing made me snap out of it. And I did not have a good reason for being surly or impatient. Finally I said, "Okay, if this is the way you are going to be, so be it. I'll just sit here and watch."<br /><br />And that seemed to work. I mean, there was no good reason to be impatient or surly or in a bad mood. So.<br /><br />I listened to Elizabeth Gilbert's TED talk the other day. If you go to the TED website you can listen to it for yourself. TED stands for Technology, Entertainment, Design. I don't know a whole lot about it right now except that people, all sorts of people, give an 18 minute "speech of a lifetime." The speeches are meant to inform, inspire, surprise, and delight. I might give an 18 minutes speech at our TEDx conference later this summer. We'll see what they say about my proposal. Someone sent me a link to Gilbert's talk. And it resonated in an unexpected way.<br /><br />She's the person who wrote Eat, Pray, Love. Truth here. I didn't really like that book. I did not relate to a beautiful woman's tale of a search for meaning. I didn't think I could use the kinds of strategies she used (primarily, it seemed to me as I read her book, by being so beautiful) to make my way through a time of upset. But her book spoke to many women (and men, presumably) and she was a raging success with it. Her TED talk is about the inevitable question of "now what?" She spoke about creativity and demons and such, and she also spoke about the kind of pressure she felt to write something as successful, as well-received, as, well, amazing, as that first book. And I found her talk to be surprisingly genuine and sincere and touching. <br /><br />I'm still in the grasp of my own "now what" questions. My two month jaunt is quickly receding. Time speeds along and an experience like a two month long bike ride quickly becomes yesterday's story. People want to move to tomorrow's story. I, frankly, want to move on to tomorrow's story. But I also feel myself clinging to THAT story, the "old" story, the bike ride story. A big part of me does not want to let it go. I cling. I push away the "now what?" questions. A big part of me does want anything new. A big part wants to re-live, re-ride, re-dream, re-experience that OTHER story.<br /><br />I'm in touch with a few people from my ride and a few people who have done the same ride I just did. When I meet one of those other riders we hug and look into each other's eyes and know that we have done something different, at least in our own minds, and we alone know how important it was. And we also probably know that it was really probably NOT as important as we think it was but we are reluctant to let go and allow our memory disintegrate. <br /><br />Today I re-read a piece written by Christine Kane who is a singer here. She wrote about maintaining one's sense of confidence when one is surrounded by fear. The fear, as she referred to in this piece, of a recession, a collapse. The fear that drives us to shrink, hide, retreat. She suggested we take a different approach. That we don't pull back but that we push out more. She suggests we follow our own inner voices, the ones that can really provide a whole lot more reliable comfort than those scary voices in the news can destroy.<br /><br />That seems like a good approach. Following the light. Following the light.<br /><br />So I've decided not to let go of this bike ride that meant so much to me. I'm still not at all sure what to do with it. I'm doing a bit of speaking these days - I have four or five talks on my calendar at this point and that may be all there are. Or it may be that I'll trust my own ability to leap (like I did by even going on the bike ride to begin with) and will plunge in further, with even more energy and more confidence that the outcome will be more like my real truth than hiding out and succumbing to the fear would be.<br /><br />And maybe by saying that holding on is just fine I'll let go some - and that will be all that I need to have it forever. It's hard to say.<br /><br />We'll see.<br /><br />For now I think I'll take my pup for a walk. She is one to make much simpler choices than me and so I think it is time to let her be the teacher. At least for this afternoon.<br /><br />with love,<br />LaureyLaureyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00881244921725694200noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-219024899235951025.post-76192258195585996892009-07-14T15:39:00.001-07:002009-07-14T15:40:16.768-07:00The speech for OCNAI'm now back from Washington. Some of you have asked to see the text of my speech. Okey doke. Here it is:<br /><br />Remarks for OCNA by Laurey Masterton<br />July 8, 2009<br /><br />To start with, let me say that the last time I was here, speaking to a group of ovarian cancer survivors, I had two minutes on the program. I was preparing to embark on a big adventure. I did not know if I could accomplish what I had been dreaming about doing. I did not know.<br /><br />I live in Asheville, North Carolina where I own Laurey’s. Laurey’s is a catering company and also a café (coming to Asheville? Come see me.)<br /><br />I am a 20 year ovarian cancer survivor. Okay – truth. I’m now a 21 year survivor. I’m also now a 30 year uterine cancer survivor. <br /><br />Last year I turned 54. I was born in 1954. That means that last year was my Golden Year. I’m big on symbols and I’m big on finding the meaning in things. I googled “Golden Year” and read that one might feel compelled to do something significant in one’s Golden Year. I like doing things that are significant. <br /><br />For my birthday, when I turned 54, I gave myself a one week long bike ride on the Outer Banks of North Carolina. And on May 14th , on my actual birthday, I decided to take a bigger step. I decided to do a longer ride – I decided to ride my bike all the way across the United States. And, realizing right around then that that was my 20th anniversary of surviving ovarian cancer, I decided to try to make my ride a fund and awareness raiser – for ovarian cancer.<br /><br />The hard part started pretty quickly. How would I get in shape for a huge event like that? How could I leave my business for over two months? How would I pay for the ride itself? Could I raise a significant amount of money to donate? Who would take care of my house? My dog? My cat? And what organization could I work with? Where might the money go?<br /><br />I wandered around, trying to find the right group, and finally, in late August, I connected with OCNA, with the help of some of my chef colleagues at Women Chefs and Restaurateurs. We had a conference call which is when I met Karen Orloff Kaplan, Executive Director and Faryl Greller, Director of Public Relations for OCNA. I really was still stumbling along at that point. I mean, it all seemed like a good idea but that was as far as I had gotten.<br /><br />But Karen, talking on the phone with me on that day in late August, asked if I knew the significance of being a long term ovarian cancer survivor. “Well, I guess I do,” I mumbled. “No,” she insisted, “Do you have any idea how remarkable that is? Twenty years is a long time. You are in a very small club.”<br /><br />And she started naming the long term survivors she knew. <br /><br />I was floored. She knew their names. Their individual names. In that instant I knew that this ride was more important than ever. I had somehow managed to live for this long. And now it was time to take it to the next level, to do something very significant, and to help spread the word that it is possible to survive. And more than just being a living example of survivorship, I wanted to help spread the word farther. The word about those early warning signs ( I had early warning signs.) The word about early detection (I was miraculously diagnosed in stage 1 – two times). Yes, I wanted to help OCNA spread these messages. It seemed like a perfect fit.<br /><br />I started writing fundraising letters. I started training. I found a house sitter. My staff told me they’d step up and take care of my business while I was gone. My sisters and our local hospital offered to help fund my portion of the ride. It started to work.<br /><br />So by now you know that I did the ride. Frankly, it wouldn’t be much of a story and I wouldn’t be much of a closing speaker if I had NOT done it, right? It was very hard. Very. The journey across the United States WAS significant. Very.<br /><br />Just so you know, it was also a lot of fun. I met 21 other women who were riding for their own reasons. We ranged in age from 42 to 70. We had many levels of fitness. We rode for 48 out of 58 days. Over 3100 miles. We rode through California starting out in San Diego. We rode into and across Arizona, New Mexico, Texas (and Texas and Texas and more of Texas) and then through Louisiana, Mississippi and Alabama and then across the panhandle of Florida all the way to St. Augustine. The Pacific to the Atlantic.<br /><br />We got to eat like crazy. We got to spend our entire days doing nothing but getting ready to ride, riding, recovering from the day’s ride and getting ready for the next day’s ride. That is a heck of a way to spend time, my friends. <br /><br />But it was much more than that, of course. I’d like to tell you about three especially memorable days on this long ride.<br /><br />The first was the day we climbed to the highest point on our ride. We rode from Silver City, New Mexico up and over the Continental Divide, and up and over Emory Pass, over 8,200’. We climbed 5,000’ that day and finished in Kingston, New Mexico. The up was really long and really hard. At one point I think we rode for 12 miles. Up. I mostly rode with my new friend Connie who is an insulin dependent diabetic. She stopped every hour to check her insulin levels. I waited for her, which was not merely an altruistic move on my part. I was beat and stopping was mandatory for me too, not just for her.<br /><br />At the top of Emory Pass, after congratulating ourselves and jumping around with glee at having crested the highest part of the ride (“It’s all downhill from here, right?”) we had a ten-mile screaming descent. What a blast! Ten miles of steep curves, through a magnificent forest and on to an old lodge where a real Thanksgiving dinner got cooked and spread out for us. Did you remember I told you about eating? That was a fine meal. Memorable. Yes, hard going up. But what a blast of a downhill romp. <br /><br />The second memorable day was the day that I was careless and did a foolish thing by trying not to make my ride buddies stop and wait for me. I wrecked my bike when I dropped an arm warmer into my rear derailleur and very nearly wrecked myself. I lost 9 miles of riding that day, but found a deep pool of support among my riding friends, one of whom loaned me her bike. And Michael, the boyfriend of another rider happened to be visiting and he ended up spending his whole day taking my wrecked bike to be fixed. While I was switching bikes and patching my cuts, my friends rode on. But when Michael dropped me off a little bit later, my friends waited for me and administered soothing words and more ibuprofin and made sure I was okay before we all took off. I could say a lot about that day, but the third day matters more this afternoon.<br /><br />That third day was the longest day for us. 111 miles. Sanderson to Del Rio, Texas. We knew it was going to be hard. It was hard. Very hard. And long. Very long. We started riding just before the sun came up. We begged our guides “PLEASE let us start!” and they, anxiously looking at the horizon, looking for a glimpse of light, finally let us go. We rode the first mile at the crack of dawn. (Um, we called it, irreverently, the butt crack of dawn…)<br /><br />The first 30 miles were easy. We had a gentle downhill. We had smooth roads. We saw beautiful rocky buttes and gorgeous turquoise dawn skies. The sun came up as we were gliding down a perfect road. Connie stretched out her arms and seemed to soar. We did too. “Look Ma! No hands!!” (Not bad for me and my 60+ year old friends.) Nothing could stop us. This day was off to a fine start and I felt certain that I would ride every mile.<br /><br />But at mile 31 the wind picked up. The calm morning turned breezy and that breeze came right into our faces. We entered a new county. Each county, we discovered, is responsible for its own road maintenance and the one we entered was wealthier than the one we left - which meant that the road surface became “chip seal.” We’d heard about Chip Seal. Chip seal describes a road surface wherein gravel is poured onto a smooth road and the smallest amount of sealer is sprayed on top to stick the gravel on. Chip seal lasts a long time. And chip seal is expensive. Poor counties have smooth roads. Richer ones have chip seal. Chip Seal is horrible as a biking surface. Imagine riding on an old-fashioned washboard. For a whole day.<br /><br />The breeze became a wind. The chip seal got rougher. The map, which indicated a downhill trend, was deceptive. With the chip seal’s friction and the wind, by now a 20+ mile an hour headwind, moving forward meant that we had to work hard even on a steep downhill. And a downhill trend is NOT the same as a steep downhill. It was, to put it mildly, a slog.<br /><br />At lunch a number of riders quit for the day, loading up their bikes and getting into the SAG (support and gear) vehicle. Connie and I and Jan and Sherry and Lois and Marci kept going. Everyone else got into the van.<br /><br />I wanted to get into the van. My feet ached. My arms ached. My neck ached. My butt ached. The chip seal’s vibration meant that I was also numb in all those places. Not fun.<br /><br />But I kept riding. After all, I pointed out to myself, I was not undergoing chemo therapy. And I was not hearing a diagnosis for the first time. And I was not, like a little 4 year old friend of mine in Asheville, undergoing a bone-marrow transplant. I kept riding.<br /><br />The wind got stronger. SAG breaks got more frequent. Instead of stopping every 20 miles, we stopped every 10 miles. Sherry and Connie got a burst of speed and took off. Marci went with them. Lois slowed down and decided to stop at mile 100, making the day a personal best for her. <br /><br />I wanted to stop at mile 100. But I kept riding.<br /><br />Jan and I stuck with each other. She’s 65 and was doing the ride to prove to herself, simply, that she could. We stopped, at that point, every 5 miles, ate something, drank something, peed. Got back on and kept riding.<br /><br />“Surely you know you can do this,” an inner voice began repeating. “Keep going. Keep riding. Do not quit. Keep going.” <br /><br />Those last 11 miles were the hardest riding I have ever done. I wanted to stop at the end of every mile. I wanted to stop with every single pedal stroke. Ann, our SAG drive, took every extra thing we might have been carrying. I gave up my water bottle, my spare tire, my jacket. And I kept riding. The wind did not stop. The road did not get any smoother.<br /><br />Jan and I were the last ones out on the route that day. Three miles before the finish I lost her in the dusk. But it didn’t seem right to finish without her so I waited. She finally caught up, having had trouble with her chain. We rode in together. It was so dark we could hardly see the motel sign. We had been riding for 12 ½ hours. We held hands and rode those last yards together. And we both completely lost it when we finished, collapsing into the arms of our friends who had ridden, one way or another, to the finish of the day.<br /><br />Many of you know about days like this even if you do not ride a bicycle. Since I’ve been home I’ve had days like this. It has been really hard coming home. I loved being on that ride. And I have not had an easy re-entry.<br /><br />But those difficult re-entry days, those days that YOU know about, of chemo or of sitting in a doctor’s office waiting to hear a diagnosis or of hearing a diagnosis and wondering how you are ever going to make it through - are real. It’s a matter of getting through them. A matter of seeing if you can find something positive in the midst of something so challenging, so unbearable. It’s a matter, most of all, of not giving up.<br /><br />Doing that ride, for me and for you and for women and men out in the world, WAS a significant event for me. A lot of people kept up with me on my blog and told me how inspirational I was to them. And I kept a lot of you in my heart and want you to know how inspirational you were to me. And, by the way, how inspirational you are, still, to me, as I stand up here and chirp about riding across the United States. <br /><br />Riding across the United States is nothing compared to the challenge we have here. The challenge to get through the next chemo or the next conversation with the doctor or the next conversation with our elected officials. Riding across the United States is nothing compared to trying to catch President Obama’s attention to ask him to move this cause up to the top of the list, or at least higher up on the list. Maybe it helps that his mother died of ovarian cancer. It’s an awful thing. But I hope it helps.<br /><br />And yes, by the way I raised a bunch of money. I have a check for OCNA and in a minute I’d like Karen and Faryl to come up here so I can give it to them.<br /><br />And then I’d like to show you a little video I made. The fellow who did all the work is a friend of mine and his mother died of ovarian cancer. The editing and production was a gift to me – and to you. My sweet girlfriend Annie made postcards for me to send to the folks who donated to my ride. I have sent out almost 300 of them to the folks who helped me raise the money I’m about to give OCNA. People pulled money out of their wallets to give to me. People gave me things all along the way. Just as you have by having me here today.<br /><br />So thank you for having me come and speak. Thanks to the women I have met who are longer term survivors than me. You inspire me. I only hope that I can be that kind of an inspiration for some of you who are younger in your survivorship. <br /><br />Keep it up. Life is a grand thing. It is filled with love and that makes it all worth living for, now doesn’t it?<br /><br />Karen? Faryl? <br /><br />And, cue video.Laureyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00881244921725694200noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-219024899235951025.post-15193876110466306802009-07-02T20:26:00.001-07:002009-07-02T20:37:48.592-07:00Two months<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XQUHHVmxnwQ/Sk183cB9IqI/AAAAAAAAAM8/_aK5439uxW0/s1600-h/Life+poster+for+OCNA.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 75px; height: 104px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XQUHHVmxnwQ/Sk183cB9IqI/AAAAAAAAAM8/_aK5439uxW0/s320/Life+poster+for+OCNA.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5354072823872430754" /></a><br />It is now more than two months since the end of the ride. Closing in on July 4th. Closing in on July 8th, the date for my talk in Washington. I'll be the closing speaker at the Ovarian Cancer National Alliance's annual conference. I spoke in February, just before the ride and had two minutes on the program. This time I get twenty. <br /><br />I feel that the time I've been given is precious. People's time is precious. I have a brief window in which to say something that might stick with these listeners. <br /><br />While I did my ride, my jaunt across the United States, one friend got diagnosed with and had surgery for breast cancer. One friend underwent chemotherapy for lymphoma. One little new friend had a bone marrow transplant. And now, back from the ride, I have another new friend who is trying to figure out what she has. It's something big but they don't know quite yet what it will turn out to be.<br /><br />I'm sick of hearing about cancer. I'm sick of this being the focus, of so many people having it, of it becoming almost normal to hear about the next one who got something that is, yes, cancer. <br /><br />I think about how hard my ride felt while I was on it and it seems like nothing compared to these stories of sickness and struggle and who-knows-if-they-are-going-to-make-it tales. I drew on these folks when I was having a hard day. But at the end of a hard day, I took a shower, ate something, and went to bed. These friends don't have that luxury.<br /><br />So on the fourth I'll get in my car and drive to Washington to get ready to talk to some people I met on the ride and some people who I've never met. I'll speak in front of people who followed this blog and to people who don't know how to use a computer. I'll see if my comments make sense to the folks who are listening. I hope they are not too tired. And I hope that I make sense. I hope what I say matters. I hope it does.<br /><br />And then I'll drive home and keep going. Onward. The journey did not finish in St. Augustine. In many ways it has just started.<br /><br />I'll let you know how it went when it is over.<br />Thanks for being with me on this whole trip. It has been quite a trip, all in all.Laureyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00881244921725694200noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-219024899235951025.post-81652375590729089702009-06-28T20:02:00.000-07:002009-06-28T20:23:47.618-07:00Nice<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_XQUHHVmxnwQ/SkgvLK85PeI/AAAAAAAAAM0/MdsZV4XPG5o/s1600-h/bend+and+more+010.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_XQUHHVmxnwQ/SkgvLK85PeI/AAAAAAAAAM0/MdsZV4XPG5o/s320/bend+and+more+010.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5352580026094665186" /></a><br /><br />I told my sister Heather today that I feel 100% back. Saying it out loud caught even me by surprise. SHE exclaimed. I exclaimed. But it felt true today. Back. 100%<br /><br />It has been an incredibly rocky ride. I've shared some of that here. Some in my other bits and pieces of writing. I've felt weighed down by the re-entry and by how unsuccessful I have been in just simply coming home. It's not that I don't WANT to be here now or that I haven't wanted to be here. I HAVE. Just couldn't feel much joy or clarity or calm.<br /><br />I've been trying a lot of things: <br />I started listening to Eckardt Tolle (but couldn't get through the introduction, just lost it listening to how badly he had felt before he found peace). Maybe if I'd have been able to keep listening I would have found peace.<br /><br />I have tried to just breathe deeply whenever I felt overwhelmed. I almost passed out the other day with all the deep breaths...(not really.)<br /><br />I've tried going out into my garden but it is so overgrown that it has been too daunting a task to even start until very recently. The other day I cajoled my sister to come help and that actually worked. I tricked myself in the process and started in on the weeds. It is beginning to look better.<br /><br />I've tried to eat differently.<br /><br />I've tried to read and be distracted.<br /><br />I've tried...<br /><br />The other day, however, I went to see Sally, my acupuncture friend, and she did a session which marked a turnaround for me. I'm not sure if it was the treatment she did or if it is the combination of different eating and more involved positive thinking or more planning for the future or filling my life once again with things that make me feel good. But I am feeling better. Almost, well, pretty close to my old familiar self.<br /><br />My friend Ellie told me that re-entry frequently takes as long as the experience took. When she said that my heart really sank. I did NOT want to feel bad for two months. But it is now almost two months and I have to say, it has taken this long to come back to myself.<br /><br />It is also helping to finally be getting a bit of perspective on the whole ride. I now have a video which I like a whole lot. (When I figure out how to do it, I'll link it here so you can see it too.) I now have a speech all ready to go for the ovarian conference that is coming up next week. The bike ride in DC IS going to happen.I have about four other invitations to speak and I feel like I have something to say. <br /><br />However, just like cresting Emory Pass, the high point of our ride, it is probably not simply a smooth coast downhill now. I'm sure there will be plenty of rough spots, headwinds, poor road surfaces, and sore body parts. There will be easy times too, probably. Boring times, probably. Good times, probably. Who knows, really.<br /><br />I do know that it is a gigantic relief to be able to say, simply, "I feel better."<br /><br />with love,<br />Laurey<br /><br />P.S. This is Willow.Laureyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00881244921725694200noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-219024899235951025.post-34241166290788566202009-06-26T19:08:00.000-07:002009-06-26T19:32:10.132-07:00The bend in the river<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XQUHHVmxnwQ/SkV_j4_LlgI/AAAAAAAAAMs/xBsb2UXgAu8/s1600-h/bend+and+more+012.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XQUHHVmxnwQ/SkV_j4_LlgI/AAAAAAAAAMs/xBsb2UXgAu8/s320/bend+and+more+012.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5351823986769237506" /></a><br /><br />When I was an Outward Bound instructor I became aware of a characteristic of mine that I had not really thought about. My zone of comfort has always been "crisis control" that place of being very able to deal with the things that pop up with no warning. I have historically not been very good at crisis control's opposite: long-range planning. <br /><br />On the river portion of our courses we often talked about the differences in these two ways of being. And the person sitting in the bow was generally referred to as the one who had to do crisis control. On a fast moving river, especially around here, rocks pop up with little warning. The bow paddler is the one who has to react, make sure the boat misses the obstacle.<br /><br />But if the boat is to make it downriver, the person in the stern needs to keep an eye out for the distant course and has to steer and plan and decide what to do - way ahead of time.<br /><br />I've always been much better at the crisis control. In a boat I LOVE being in front. I LOVE the feeling of keeping an eye out, watching for surprises, doing what it takes to make sure my boat gets safely past. I'm really good at it.<br /><br />I am not nearly as comfortable being in the stern. I am so focused on the immediate situation that it has been an almost insurmountable challenge to look way downstream. Just as I start to, a rock pops up and my instant response reflex kicks in.<br /><br />I'm trying to train myself to be more long-range and less crisis control. I'm trying to imagine a future picture, trying to pick my head up and look way downstream. It's harder than it seems. Rocks pop up. I respond. And lose my long picture.<br /><br />But knowing I want to transform is a good start, I must remind myself. Because even in this picture, the bend is there, just below the sky and the water is moving and we are moving too and my head is up more and I am beginning to see that I can change and can create a different picture. <br /><br />After all, a year ago the bike ride was a VERY faint, blurry image on a barely visible horizon. And NOW look! A lot can happen in a year. It'll be interesting to see how it all develops.Laureyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00881244921725694200noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-219024899235951025.post-12810319975193487912009-06-25T03:46:00.000-07:002009-06-25T04:02:54.125-07:00Things grow<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XQUHHVmxnwQ/SkNWawBN4pI/AAAAAAAAAMk/vBXkeQnQyAE/s1600-h/bend+and+more+034.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XQUHHVmxnwQ/SkNWawBN4pI/AAAAAAAAAMk/vBXkeQnQyAE/s320/bend+and+more+034.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5351215799812874898" /></a><br /><br />We planted these tomatoes just a few weeks ago. I went away. Just before I left, they seemed to be growing steadily, so I put cage supports around them. They were only about two feet tall at that point. But the other day, when I got home, I was amazed to see them towering over the tops of the cage supports (which you can't even see in this picture), loaded with blossoms, filled with promise of tomatoes to come.<br /><br />Similarly, everything else here is loaded with promise or, shall I say more simply, everything is growing like crazy. We're having a very rich season, with plentiful rain, lots of sun, and plants that, after being overwhelmed by drought and, in my neighborhood, cicadas, are now going bonkers.<br /><br />Last summer was awful here. It was horribly dry. And we were in the middle of one of those 17 year cicada cycles. I felt like I was going mad. Really. The drone in the air was so loud I really could not think. I felt like I had landed in a space ship movie and the doors were about to open and the aliens were about to descend and grab me and take me to their mother ship where they would perform evil experiments. Trust me. It was bad.<br /><br />This summer feels different. No cicadas. They will come in August but only in the same way they do every year. Tolerable. But right now the fireflies are coming out at dusk and it is truly beautiful to see my lawn filled with little glows of light that lift up and then tuck into the trees. It is lush here in my yard and it feels good.<br /><br />When I think about all that is growing here I think about all that I have planted, both in the ground and in my life and in the ether. It can be so easy to forget, to be in a drought and think that nothing will ever grow and nothing will ever be any different than the dark place that the present sometimes is. But this yard reminds me that that really is not always the way it will be. Seeds, planted, do grow. A drought ends. Life returns.<br /><br />I'm feeling like life is returning to me after a long drought. It is creeping in, trickling in, sometimes even pouring in. And it feels good.<br /><br />I'll tell more as I figure it out.<br /><br />Love,<br />LaureyLaureyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00881244921725694200noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-219024899235951025.post-88177393538870324002009-06-23T19:19:00.000-07:002009-06-23T19:50:04.601-07:00Finding balance<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XQUHHVmxnwQ/SkGPPSj2cfI/AAAAAAAAAMc/BeRTOp-TvIo/s1600-h/bend+and+more+009.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XQUHHVmxnwQ/SkGPPSj2cfI/AAAAAAAAAMc/BeRTOp-TvIo/s320/bend+and+more+009.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350715325135876594" /></a><br /><br />I just realized that it has been a while since I last wrote. I haven't felt much like writing. I have been mired in not knowing much of anything at all. I have felt very out of balance. I have not felt good. And I didn't really want to write about that.<br /><br />I just came back from a week in Bend with my girlfriend. It was a lovely week. And more than IT being a lovely WEEK, SHE is a lovely person. So that made it just a fine time. She took me to many of her favorite places like the beautiful Metolius River, which magically bubbles right out of the ground. No mountain run off there - nope, just a bubbling beginning.<br /><br />She took me for a paddle on the Deschutes River. We took her pup, who curled up in the bottom of the canoe and made all the other paddlers Ooh and AAh. Haven't you always wanted to go in a canoe with your dog? I have.<br /><br />We hiked and explored and gardened and I met some of her friends. We went on a tour of appetizers in Bend's restaurants one night. We visited the farmer's market and made some great dinners for ourselves (she's a cook too.)<br /><br />But for much of the time I thought about balance and about being back from my bike ride and about finding my footing again and about moving along and taking the lessons and spreading them out. I thought about inhaling the lessons, keeping them for myself. I thought about exhaling them, sharing them.<br /><br />In a couple of weeks I am going to Washington, DC where I will be the closing speaker for the Ovarian Cancer National Alliance's annual conference. I have not been able to find any clarity about my ride. I have felt stuck in this swampy place of not knowing anything. Not knowing why I did the ride. Not knowing if it mattered that I did. Not knowing if I can take the lessons and make them meaningful for myself. Not knowing if I could find the clarity to make them meaningful for anyone else.<br /><br />But I just now wrote a first draft of my speech and I think I might have found a bit of clarity. It's not ready to be shown yet. It's not ready to be shared yet. But it is a good start.<br /><br />Today, after spending the night in a trashed out motel room near the Atlanta airport because I got stuck flying back here from Bend, I stumbled home but, instead of collapsing into darkness and sadness and more not knowing, I went out, checked my bees, weeded a bit, mowed the lawn, petted my dog, did some laundry, and then called my girlfriend.<br /><br />I still feel there is a lot of not knowing in my life.<br /><br />But it is good to begin to feel a glimmer of something else too. These rocks, for instance, almost stacked themselves. After sitting on the ground up on the slopes of Mt. Hood for who knows how long, they let me pick them up and showed me where they needed to go.<br /><br />And maybe that's a little tiny bit of what is going on in me right now too.<br />I sure do hope so.<br /><br />I'll write when I have something more to say. Thanks for keeping up with me. Thanks for being on my side. Thanks for understanding.Laureyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00881244921725694200noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-219024899235951025.post-78544520488810553432009-06-13T21:11:00.000-07:002009-06-13T21:20:58.126-07:00Hmmm...Night time. Again. It is now the 14th. 14 is my favorite number. So today must be my lucky day.<br /><br />I was at the pharmacy today and was waiting in line. An older woman looked at me. She looked right at me, connecting. I did not know her.<br /><br />"You're Laurey, right?"<br /><br />"Yes."<br /><br />"Congratulations on your bike ride," she said.<br /><br />And then, "I'm a survivor myself."<br /><br />"Oh?" I said. I was just in line, there to get my pills and hurry to meet my sister at the baseball game. I was late. But then I made myself slow down.<br /><br />"What kind?"<br /><br />"I had brain cancer," she said. <br /><br />"When?" <br /><br />"It has been 15 months" (I think she said).<br /><br />By then I was completely with her. Stopped. Waiting. Standing still. Ready to listen. In line at the drug store.<br /><br />She told me about her drugs and her appetite and about a few other things. I told her to come eat at my shop. To stay in touch. To keep it up.<br /><br />We parted. I hurried out of the store, crying. Moved by her finding me, by her stepping out to talk to me about this time she had had. She did not know me but had seen my picture in the paper at the end of the ride. <br /><br />I still haven't figured this whole thing out, but it seems to me that just being, just standing up, just listening is a good thing, a valid thing, maybe enough of a thing. I think it was for her, today. And for me, today, it was too.<br /><br />I feel jumbled up still. Very. But these kinds of things crash into me and make me stop in my tracks and set all the worry about anything else in my mind aside. This, right now, is the most important part of my life. And yes, I get to do other things, and yes I have to do other things, but this, this right here, is the main thing right now.<br /><br />Love,<br />LaureyLaureyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00881244921725694200noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-219024899235951025.post-7143208140858965572009-06-12T03:53:00.000-07:002009-06-12T04:08:52.758-07:00Poster Girl!!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XQUHHVmxnwQ/SjIzvq138_I/AAAAAAAAAMU/PLkkjlYCj9o/s1600-h/Life+poster+for+OCNA.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 75px; height: 104px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XQUHHVmxnwQ/SjIzvq138_I/AAAAAAAAAMU/PLkkjlYCj9o/s320/Life+poster+for+OCNA.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346392601689322482" /></a><br /><br />Whoo Hoo!<br /><br />I'm on a poster! As my little friend David would say, "Su-WEET!"<br /><br />I am the closing speaker at the Ovarian Cancer National Alliance's annual conference this summer. July 8th, to be precise. Live. Love. Bike. Talking about the bike ride and about living and about sticking with something that is unbearably hard. Of course sticking with a life-threatening illness is a heck of a lot harder than going on a little bike ride, or even on a big bike ride. But I think there are valid comparisons to be made, lessons to be shared, conclusions to be reached. That's my charge.<br /><br />If anyone is going to be in the DC area, I'll be doing a fun bike ride on July 5th at 10 in the morning and you're invited to join in. The starting point is Temple<br />Ohr Kodesh at 8300 Meadowbrook Lane in Chevy Chase. We'll ride 14 miles to Needwood Lake, have a bite to eat and then ride back. A scant 30 miles. In my dreams I see this becoming something very big. A gent named Michael Montheit is the true brains behind this event. The First Annual Ride for Ovarian Cancer Awareness. Do come.<br /><br />I've been working on a video to show at the end of my talk. The great part about it is that I thought about it for a LONG time, imagining it way before the ride even started. I shot little videos all along the route, imagining the final product. Then I met with John Warner, a photographer here. He's VERY smart, and put my ideas into a real video. I'd suggest cutting HERE to THIS shot and then dissolving HERE to THIS bit and he'd manipulate the mouse and there it'd be. <br /><br />I've now watched this video a BUNCH of times and I like it very much. Which I consider to be a very good sign. I've shown it to a few people and THEY'VE liked it very much too. This afternoon I will work with John on tweaking a few things and then it'll be done. Which makes me very excited about getting to show it here and there.<br /><br />So now it's time to get going on this day's fun.<br /><br />Today the events seem like fun. It has been a rough bunch of days and weeks, trying like mad to figure out how to take this gigantic experience and carry it with me into and through my life. I feel like I am beginning to figure that out. And that really is helping smooth out the roughness. Things begin, slowly, but surely, to feel smooth.<br /><br />I'll be in touch.<br />Love,<br />LaureyLaureyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00881244921725694200noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-219024899235951025.post-79753802791299814032009-06-09T20:32:00.000-07:002009-06-09T20:50:25.205-07:00Whee!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_XQUHHVmxnwQ/Si8pkVU5T8I/AAAAAAAAAMM/sjXTdR0vx0s/s1600-h/live-love-bike.gif"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 217px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_XQUHHVmxnwQ/Si8pkVU5T8I/AAAAAAAAAMM/sjXTdR0vx0s/s320/live-love-bike.gif" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5345536986888884162" /></a><br /><br /><br />I'm up too late. Messing around on my computer. Clearly I should be in bed. Tomorrow is a full day. Today was a full day. The rest of the week, too, is full. I should be in bed. Instead I am up, playing on my computer, playing with making pictures of myself look like the Obama poster. Oh my.<br /><br />I'm enchanted with this picture. It has been more than a month and I need to keep looking at it to force myself to believe that I actually rode my bicycle across the country. There it is, on film, well, digitally captured, and so I, remembering this picture being taken, must believe that it did happen. This ride.<br /><br />I've been thinking about this "living in the gap" idea. The place in between what one was and what one is becoming. I was talking with a friend today and she spoke of it by saying "it's the music in between the notes." Yes. What a description. The last note has played and the next note is being imagined. One has to retain the memory of the note that was just played so that the pitch and tone and volume of the next note will blend in well. But the new note cannot be played fully until the previous one is done. I guess they can overlap, but eventually one dissolves into the other and then, somehow, the new note is the dominant one.<br /><br />Interesting.<br /><br />I spoke on the radio tonight. For some reason I had thought we had an hour. The show, as it turned out, lasted only 1/2 hour. I had been pretty thorough in my answers and then, just like that, it was over. I felt odd about it, like I had said too much or that I had been too graphic or that, well, I should have just kept my mouth shut. But of course that is not what this whole thing is about, keeping my mouth shut and NOT saying anything. I have chosen to speak out. And as I do, it is sometimes very uncomfortable for me. But I hope it is the right thing to do. I can only trust that this IS what I am supposed to be doing.<br /><br />I came home, petted my dog, sat still, watched the video that is now almost done, and then played with my bike picture. And now, tired, very tired by this day and these thoughts and this review and processing, I am going to go to sleep.<br /><br />One thing that I know, sort of, is that when something has ever made me feel like I am pushing on the edge of my comfort, it is usually a time when that pushing has resulted in that thing having a bigger than normal affect on a reader or listener. So I hope that is the case with this radio show. It was hard to say all that I did. It is hard to stand up and talk about this cancer stuff. I don't want to talk about it. I jsut want it all to go away, to be gone. But it is still here and I keep thinking and feeling that this, this talking or writing or sharing is what I am supposed to do. So there you go.Laureyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00881244921725694200noreply@blogger.com0